This blog will cover the collision of two cultures - parents and teen children. They don't understand us, and view us as spoilers or walking ATMs (adults with teen malcontents?) We are left wondering what happened to our cute cuddly kids of a few years back, and when they may return. If ever.

Monday, September 22, 2008

But it's been a week of death (my cousin's hubby at 43) and still working two jobs while I'm hiring another reporter.

I think Jennfer mourned Jeff's death, but she was bothered by her grief experienced by her cousins. She offered to cancel her b-day party to go up and help on Saturday, but I waived her off. We'll be going up Friday for the funeral, which is the first one she's been to since her grandmother died 3 years ago.

Monday, September 15, 2008

That's what I was debating over the phone as I listened to a voice mail message from my hubby (my cell had died at work on Friday) that Jennifer had fallen down a flight of stairs at school, could I call the doc for an appointment?

Sooo, does this mean, broken (fill in the blank), a concussion, bruised or simply scratched up?

Called back to find out that she'd fallen up some bleachers (had her hands full of volley ball stuff) and couldn't catch herself. So she'd fallen on her ear. No bleeding out of said ear, but it looked pretty bad.

In the end, we decided NOT to wait the mandatory 6 hours in the ER to be told to go put it on ice. And it turned out okay. But I did note that we didn't have to talk too hard to get her to ditch the school dance on Friday.

I was grateful, in a dirty little secret sort of way, that my cell had died. Since it didn't turn out to be anything serious, and I got the message after all the work stuff was essentially done, for once, it wasn't me that was dropping everything to play wonder woman. That was GAry's job on Friday.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Mine just uninvited me to an Auburn High School soccer game. But I don't mind, she chattered on about how boys are pigs (they eat alot and anything) and about some kids from one middle school "just won't shut up." She had me check out her face this am, to make sure cover up was on all the right pimples, and asked if the blue top or the green worked with the white flip flops.

All this stuff 3,000 people, plus their familes, the everyday chatter, will never see again, at least on this side of the veil for the last seven years. I was in DC when the plane hit the Pentagon, which I noted with some satisfaction, is the only site of the attacks that got its act together and got a memorial up. Jennifer was terrified I wasn't coming back, I was terrified I lost my brother in law, I wasn't sure that the attacks had stopped.

But now, seven years later, on a day much like that one, absolutely heartbreakingly beautiful, I noticed the moon tonight, the way the sun beams through the grass and the sunflowers, and the crow commute up the Kent Valley.

But mostly, I notice my daughter, now seven years and a lifetime older, and I give thanks.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

A eager campaigner showed up at our doorstep this weekend, asking if we'd made up our mind on who to vote for in the November presidential election.

Without missing a beat, Gary, trying to hold our slobbery dog back, and balancing a fistfull of gardening tools, said "Yep, Obama." My daughter called out for the kitchen, which she was supposed to be cleaning up "But we wish is was Hillary."

"Should I follow him down the street and tell him why," she grinned.

I told her that harassment of campaigners would not be allowed, unless it's someone trying to get us to vote for Palin (not McCain mind you, I really don't have much argument from him, but Palin). She agreed with me, and couldn't quite believe that John M. thought that having any woman on the ticket would do. Especially one where they think nothing of shooting anything that's not livestock, as this New York Times blog post notes.

She's obviously anti-abortion, and Jennifer and I are staunchly pro-choice. She likes shooting critters, any critter apparently, and loves the NRA. Hates enviros, such as J and I, and I guess the unforgivable sin for both of us was when she dragged her pregnant daughter onto the stage, along with that poor 17 year old boy.

I believe that women can have it all, but not at the same time. And being a mother of five under age kids and gov.....well something's got to give, and in this case, it was the kids. If for some reason she was pro-choice, well closet pro-choice given the R party, and and enviro, again closet, and didn't relish shooting wolves from airplanes, I might consider.

But dragging those two kids on stage simply was the final straw, from both J and myself. We quickly clicked out and tuned into "That 70s Show."

Friday, September 5, 2008

End of summer, start of school, and not only that, the start of 9th grade, HIGH SCHOOL, for Jennifer. She had her entire week's clothes planned out last Sunday night across the living room couch. Complete with shoes and jewelry. Her father took her the first day, to arrive precisely at 7:45 am, where a friend would be waiting to walk with her to her locker.

Instructions to dad: No hugging, no honking or waving goodbye. For heavens sake, don't get out of the car or acknowledge your daughter in any way. Don't say "Have a good day grumpy cheeks" or any other of your pet names for her.

Anyway, first day good. And today was her 15th b-day. So we took two or her friends out to the mall, but first to dinner, where they chattered like magpies at the end of the table, and refused to let us join their conversation, as they compared their first week of school.

As Gary headed home, I took them to the mall.

"Mom, you're not going to come with us are you," J. asked, as I made to tag along with.

Okay fine, pick me up at the book store in an hour. Answer your cell when I call.

Alien Nation

About Me (short version)

This blog will chronicle my journey through the tween and early teen years with my middle school daughter. You'll also be reading posts from other parents, who swear their children have been abducted by aliens, and have returned home..different.

A short synopsis of Barbara Clements. I'm a happily married, South King County mom with one daughter, and hope to someday freelance full-time as a writer for National Geographic. But until then, I have a daughter to raise and get through high school, which she'll hopefully leave in four years with a scholarship, my sanity intact and not pregnant.